


The Argonaut's Tale

by sariagray



Category: Torchwood
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-30
Updated: 2012-03-30
Packaged: 2017-11-02 17:40:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/371622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sariagray/pseuds/sariagray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coda to The House of the Dead, takes place immediately after the last line of the play.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Argonaut's Tale

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by analineblue. References are made to the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice.

Jack dragged a hand over his rain-soaked face and then ran it through his hair. The strands moved freely, the gel having long been washed out by the storm. ‘Rift Rain,’ he thought with a laugh that quickly turned into something like a sob.

He’d lied to the woman, but it had been a kindness; the dead were always there if one simply bothered to look. Jack often tried to avoid it, but now every peripheral movement seemed to be the straightening of a tie or the light curvature of a smile. He’d cherish the gestures and the thousand madnesses they offered.

“You often misplace things,” said a clear voice, young and intangible. “Are you happy now?”

He turned to face the newcomer, flashing a bright smile that was more instinct than sentiment. “You again?”

The girl nodded sternly. “You sought me out before. Now it’s my turn.”

She sat down on the damp pavement, smoothing her cream-and-rose frock as she tucked her legs beneath her. With a fluid motion of her hand, she gestured for Jack to join her. He knelt beside her, his knees weak and aching with the strain. The air around her was cold and bitter, though Jack only felt it incidentally.

“Why?” he asked. “It’s done now. The rift is closed. There’s nothing else.”

“I have a story for you, Captain, should you choose to listen.”

Jack nodded warily.

“A long time ago, there was a musician well-favored by the muses. He was a rare man, born of a mortal and a god, and loved by many. One day, he came upon a copse of trees and met with a beautiful nymph, a daughter of Apollo. The two quickly fell in love and were inseparable. They spent their days in each other’s company, dancing in meadows and drinking wine. Unfortunately, the young nymph fell upon a viper’s nest and was bitten. She died of the poison and her soul was sent into Hades’ realm where all souls reside.

“The musician was devastated and sang so mournfully that all of the nymphs came to him to determine the source of his pain. When he told them of his love’s death, they urged him into the underworld with his lute. ‘Play this,’ they instructed, ‘and put Cerberus to sleep. Then you may pass and save your love.’ So the musician did so. Hades was so moved by his love, so impressed with his ingenuity and skill, that he promised to return the man’s lover to the land of the living.

“But there was one condition. The man was not to look back, but to trust that she would follow. However, he was anxious to soothe his mind and so, upon reaching the first flicker of life, he turned back to see the promise fulfilled. His own promise broken, his lover instantly vanished back into the underworld, forever.”

Jack glared at her with narrowed eyes that held back hot tears. His fingers clenched into fists, the blunt nails shooting blissful sparks of pain where they dug into his palm. “Why are you telling me this? Who are you?”

“Because it is the story of your heart, Captain. I knew what would happen there, tonight. I’ve seen it.”

“You _knew_ and you didn’t tell me? Did you know – did you know that he’d be brave?”

“Some say that the man’s lover was only a vision, a trick of the gods. You believe that the gods are cruel to you, but you are wrong.”

Jack rose and growled a primal cry, heavy with grief. He paced in front of the girl, focusing on the movement of his legs, the intricate pull of his tendons, to prevent himself from falling apart at the seams until there was nothing left of him but rage.

The glow of the streetlights reflected off of the girl’s face as she watched him pace. He could see it, see her, out of the corner of his eye. There was something off about her, an anguish that he’d never noticed before. It lay so far beneath the surface that only an occasional flicker, like recognition, escaped.

“I only knew,” she said when his pacing stilled, “because you knew. Your eyes told me. He would give anything to keep you from sacrificing yourself, to keep the world from ending.”

“You – don’t talk like you know him! You don’t have the right.”

Jack sank back onto the ground, his head in his hands. The rolling hum of lone cars cutting through the night was all he could hear, aside from the accusations echoing in his head, and the assurance. That all this time, he knew. One day, the gratitude would well up inside of him and overrun the grief as ‘it doesn’t need saying’ overwhelmed the corners of his mind.

The girl pulled out her deck of cards, shuffling them in her hands with intense focus. Jack noted the movement of her hands, the way they seemed to bend the cards to her will. It had long since stopped raining, but the air was misty and blank with fog. Jack felt the condensation collect on his skin, clinging to it tightly.

“Shall I read your cards, Captain?”

Jack huffed a laugh into his palm. “Does it matter? Fine.”

She nodded. “There is only one card left.”

She placed it before him, face down on the pavement, and waited. Jack stared at the card and slowly flipped it over. He gasped, the ragged inhale cutting him up inside like a thousand small knives.

“Is this some kind of a joke? Because if it is –“

“What I see is true.”

“Are you sure?” he asked brokenly, his voice rasping.

“You know what it means,” she responded. “Do not take it literally. Or do. For you, it could well mean both. You’ll leave soon.”

“There’s nothing for me here now. If I can, I’ll go.”

“Very well, Captain. We’ll meet again at the other end.”

She stood and walked away as Jack stared at the card. It was as crisp as the day it was cut, and yet it was detailed with ancient ink and symbols even older still. He glanced up just as she vanished into the fog, perhaps into time itself.

“Wait!” he called, rising quickly, the card clutched tight between his fingers. “Wait, your –“

He looked down at the piece of cardstock and traced the lines of the picture with his eyes. It wasn’t the image that held him captive, though, but the stark white lettering underneath. Unchangeable, a harsh and resolute promise. Like a knowing kiss, like the last touch of lips before the world whites out.

He tucked it into the pocket of his greatcoat. He’d put the coat into storage, and the card, too. Something climate-controlled and secure where no harm could ever come to them no matter how long he lived. He’d protect them from the relentless march of time, safe from its merciless ravages. And he’d pretend that their safety made any bit of difference at the end of things.

He ran his hand through his hair again and sighed. “Forgive me,” he whispered as he walked off into the night.

The card fell from his pocket, fluttering like a butterfly, and landed on the ground amidst the day-to-day debris of the city streets. It lay in a patch of yellow lamplight, the rubbish around it glittering like gems.

 _Death_. The card of transformation, unbounded by the past.


End file.
